The Aerysil
by Taricorim
Summary: Legolas Greenleaf's arrival in Valimar with his friend Gimli is heralded by celebrations, feasts, and... a quest from Manwë?
1. Prologue: A Dream Within a Dream

Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.

A/N: For Emma. Have a loffly birthday. *schnoogles*

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**The Aerysil**  
By Taricorim ****

Prologue

The Sun hung low in the clear, azure sky, shining down amid the trees lining the shore. The waves in the ocean frolicked gently, rolling upon themselves, like children at play. Heat rose from the shore and languished in the late-afternoon air. High above, a giant eagle circled, its eyes ever trained on the earth, watching, waiting.

On the sand lay a lone figure. It stirred and sat up, shaking the dust from its eyes, and looked about in barely guarded wonder and confusion. It was a maiden, with nutmeg hair that caught in its mesh the radiance of Laurelin and the cool darkness of the trees' shadows. Barely visible were the pointed tips of her elven ears. Her eyes were a blue to rival the sky, but held within them the farthest reaches of heaven. She was a creature of light and dark.

She stood, dusting herself off, and in the move noticed her shift--a silken, grey raiment that shimmered in the light, at times shining with the fiery red of the sunset, at times gold like the blooms of elanor on a far away and long-forgotten shore, or pure white as niphredil. She frowned, fingering the material: it shone in the ebbing light with an ethereal light, banishing from its midst all shadow. The maiden shook her head; she recognised the work of her kin, despite centuries of removal.

Laurelin's fruit inched under the horizon, and the stars winked into existence. Eärendil gazed down upon Valinor from his abode, and saw the Elven maiden fair, and blinked in awe.

At length, the maiden turned inland, to the forests and valleys of that land, the land that had been blessed by the Valar. She walked.

Up in the sky, the eagle, watching no more, veered away.


	2. Chapter one: Of Rewards and Wishes

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Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.

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Of Rewards and Wishes

Shadows crept through the forest, covered the leaf-strewn ground, their fingers brushing at the maiden's illuminated form. She had been walking for four days, in from the shore. Food was plentiful in this land; the trees bore upon them fruits, warmed in the sun and sweet upon the tongue, and bushes were laden with berries and leaves. Brooks leapt across beds of rose-coloured rock, their waters clear and cool.

On the fifth day, she was waylaid by a band of elves, hunting in the forest. They were the servants of Varda. Their leader, Olondwë, was tall and stately, and of few words. The maiden was brought to Valimar, and there greeted by Varda herself, and beside her Manwë, high king of the Valar.

'We welcome you,' said Varda, 'to our city. We know of you, protected of the Ilúvatar; you will always have a place among us.'

The maiden nodded graciously, but was confused, for she knew not where she was. Indeed, she did not know even who she was, or why she was there. The star queen sensed her trouble.

'Do not fear,' she said. 'All will become clear with time.'

A feast was prepared then. Food was brought before the throne of Varda and Manwë, and all the city rejoiced, for—though none knew it then—the maiden was to prove vital to Valinor.

She was named Emmelyn, and given a place in the palace of the high king and queen. For the Ilúvatar wished it, and he was not to be thwarted.

One day, an eagle messenger flew into the city. Emmelyn, ever curious, followed its path to Manwë's throne, and there listened.

'Gwalhir,' said the high king. 'What new do you bring?'

The eagle, his eyes bright, spotted at once the elven maiden in the shadow of the door, and recognised her as the lone figure washed onto the beach. But he kept silent, for his eye was sharp in more ways than one, and he could foresee that this maiden would be great one day.

'A ship sails for Valinor, my liege,' said Gwalhir. 'The great Legolas Greenleaf, renowned warrior of the War of the Ring, approaches with Gimli son of Gloín.'

'How long?'

'Five days.'

Manwë sat back, a frown marring his unearthly features. 'We shall welcome them, then. Let it be known that both are to be received at once into the palace.'

The great eagle bowed his head, and flew.

Emmelyn turned and crept away. A prince was coming to Valinor! She shivered in anticipation. She had heard great tales sung about him, about his boldness in the War of the Ring, fighting alongside King Elessar and Mithrandir to support Frodo on his mythical quest. She was eager to meet these travellers.

And so it was that Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduir of Mirkwood, arrived in Valinor. The feast was prepared as the ship pulled into harbour. Great celebrations greeted him, and everywhere, elves and men alike welcomed him.

They did not forget the dwarf, who, for all that he barely reached the waist of any elf, his courage was legendary. He would forever be an elf-friend, and welcome in Valinor, revered above its people as a hero. And, despite the long-winded rumour that crept through the streets—most of them spread by a malicious, fat old man named Peter Jackson—he was quite gracious and kind, and always knew the right words for the right circumstance. Oh yes, dwarf-born no less, Gimli son of Gloín was as noble as any elf, and no less favoured by the high king.

The two were taken through the streets of Valimar and led to the palace, there to be greeted by Manwë and Varda. But, as they climbed the steps to the thrones, a flash of movement to the side drew Legolas' eye, and there was the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen, with moonbeam hair and sea-blue eyes that pierced to his very soul.

And Emmelyn, standing to the side of the procession, found that she could not move with wonder. For the elven prince was strong and fair, his stance exuding strength, his eyes wise and at once merry with unsurpassed mirth. And she thought then that the songs did him no justice.

So the two stood, gazing at each other with lovers' eyes in that moment that seemed an eternity, until the procession was once again pushed forward, and their gazes broken. But their fate thereafter would forever be changed.

The people burst into cheers at the approach of elf and dwarf, and Manwë and Varda rose from their thrones. Manwë, his mantle shining grey, bowed to the pair, and spoke, his voice clear and noble. 'Welcome, Legolas son of Thranduir and Gimli son of Gloín.'

They bowed, their eyes wide with awe. We thank thee, Manwë Súlimo, great king of the Valar.'

Manwë smiled gently, and his smile to them was Laurelin breaking through the clouds. At once, their weariness disappeared. 'You will always be welcome here, in my palace, in the palace of Valimar.'

Said Legolas, 'that is a great honour.'

Manwë stood. 'For your contribution to the War of the Ring and to Arda, Legolas and Gimli, I grant you each your one desire. Name it, and it shall be yours.'

And his voice then boomed across the crowds, and they gasped in awe, inching closer to watch the two heroes. Gimli spoke first. 'Nay, lord, let us have peace, and we shall be content.' But Legolas did not speak.

'Is there nothing you would have?' asked Manwë. 'Anything we may grant. Pray, lord, choose something; this honour should not be left to waste.'

'Very well, then. I only ask that I be allowed to practise my craft in peace, when a time comes that I should wish to take it up again.'

'It is yours. A mine, then, and a furnace to forge your craft.' Manwë turned. 'And you, Legolas son of Thranduir? What do you desire?'

Legolas stood, silent, thinking back. His heart was torn. He closed his eyes. '_Aníron_…' he whispered. _I desire_. At length, when the crowd had begun to fidget and whisper amongst themselves, he turned, and saw, as if waiting for him alone in the crowd at right, Emmelyn, and all question was washed from his mind.

'Lord,' he said without turning back, 'I would choose a maiden.'

The crowd tittered. He blushed fiercely, but stood strong.

'Ah,' said Manwë. 'Which?'

Legolas reached out, and Emmelyn, following his beckoning, stepped forwards to stand beside him, staring up at Manwë in defiance.

The king drew back, alarmed. 'You aim high. That is not merely any maiden; she is the protected of the Ilúvatar. He would be greatly angered.'

'Allow me to try, lord.'

'Very well,' he said, then sighed. 'The Aerysil was a jewel of red fire, forged by the sons of Feänor in the First Age after his death. It was brought to Valinor by Celberin during the Second Age, and lost on his journey across the Valley of Ungolianth. It is in that valley that you must find it and bring it here, to offer to the Ilúvatar. Only then may you wed Emmelyn.'

Legolas bowed. 'It is there, then, that I will go.'

So saying, Legolas ran from the thrones, intent upon his mission. Emmelyn turned to Manwë in anger.

'Why do you send him,' she said, 'on such a quest? Countless others have tried and failed to recover the Aerysil.'

The high king heaved a deep sigh. 'Child, do you not know your powers? You are the chosen of the Ilúvatar. You are his favoured. No mere elf would he suffer for you! I send him on this quest only for you. If you should bring down the Ilúvatar's wrath, you shall regret it. It is on pure chance that I am riding, in sending him to Ungoliant. For if he succeeds, he shall be the most revered elf in all Arda!'

'It is folly! What need have any of you for a jewel? You deem to kill him!'

Emmelyn turned then, and fled, leaving behind her a mighty throng of very confused elves and two saddened Valar. Down she ran, through the streets of the City, past the gates, until at last she had caught up with Legolas at the edge of the forest. She called out to him.

The Sun had set by this time, and a bloated Moon cast its cool gaze on the land. Legolas turned at her voice, and saw, running toward him, a vision of silver, her beauty enough to rival the Moon and the Sun. It is Lúthien Tinúviel reborn, he thought, into a body of light. Naturally, the stirring in his loins had something to say to that, as well.

She came to a halt before him, slightly out of breath. 'My name is Emmelyn,' she began, then faltered, unsure.

'Emmelyn,' he repeated, half to himself. 'Thy name is as fair as they self, gracious maiden.'

She blushed—rather becomingly, he thought—and cast down her eyes, her lashes dark against her cheek. She licked her lips nervously.

The stirring had become by now a rush.

'I have come to aid you in your quest—if you'll have me.' She ducked her head. 'I am learnèd in magic; I can weave slight enchantments and brew draughts against danger.' She paused. 'Manwë was not justified, sending you on this quest.'

Legolas said nothing, only embraced her in relief and gladness of companionship. She smelled to him of perfumed water and long-lingering flowers. Her body against his was soft and yielding. The rush promptly turned to an infusion of fresh blood; he drew away hastily lest he embarrass himself, and bent as if scouting the earth.

'We shall rest here tonight.'

So they sat under the tree, and, in hindsight, cursed themselves for not thinking to bring provisions in their haste to embark upon their quest. And each grew uncomfortably aware of the other, as elven eyes need not be closed to rest. And so, when at last the noises of the night disappeared in the coming of the dawn, and the noised of the day had not yet begun, they stood, thankful to be concentrating on the task ahead, and set out for the Valley of Ungolianth.

~~~~~

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A/N: the author thanks you for sticking with this (admittedly) insufferable, blatant Mary Sue fic, and hopes that the little amount of humour was enough to make up for it.

Questions? Comments? Worship? Hate mail? Leave a review.


	3. Chapter two: The Valley of Ungolianth

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Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.

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The Valley of Ungolianth

On the fifth day of their journey, they came at last to the end of the forest and the foot of the mountains. Their travel thus far was unhindered, through trees and shrub. At one point, a low-lying, minuscule Bush attempted to drop a bomb on them, under the delusion that they were dictators of third-world countries who possessed dangerous nuclear weapon. The only weapons that they were carrying were the bow of Lórien, arrows, and long-knives—one of which he gave to Emmelyn, for protection, though she insisted that she did not need it. Thankfully, they managed to evade the Bush's attack, though Legolas vowed vengeance.

They stopped as the mountains loomed before them, uncertain of the road. Legolas again cursed himself for not thinking to put in preparation.

'Whence do we go from here?' asked Emmelyn.

Legolas frowned. 'The Valley of Ungolianth lies yonder, beyond the Mountains of Caladhon, where the Valar first came to Arda. We shall climb the mountains.' But his face was troubled.

They stopped there to rest for the road ahead. A stream flowed before them, its song soft and soothing. Beside it grew a willow tree; its branches waved enticingly in the late-afternoon breeze. Emmelyn sat beneath it, leaning back to think upon the quest.

Legolas gazed unknowing at the maiden beneath the willow tree and sighed, his heart heavy with longing. He shook his head—it did not do for him to pine away like this. He will win her. Legolas turned on his heels and re-entered the forest, bow in hand. First, he would find food.

Emmelyn sat, pondering. She did not regret following Legolas to the Aerysil—after all, she was merely following her heart. But she was tired. She had half a mind to live out in the woods forever, hiding from the Valar cutting herself off from the rest of civilisation. Let the Ilúvatar come! Nothing would stop her.

But she found, as she sat there beneath the willow, that she had begun to grow very drowsy. The song of the river had grown smoother, heavier, more entrancing; it felt like a leaf's touch upon her ears. An illness, she thought, some new trick of the Valar, but she had not the heart to fight it now. Mortal sleep would cure her, and she gave into it, closed her eyes, and slept.

Presently, Legolas came out of the wood, carrying, slung on his back, two freshly slew hares. With a shout, he darted forward, seeing now only a corner of Emmelyn's grey, grey robe hanging from a tiny crack in the tree. 'Emmelyn!' he called, but received no answer, for she was swallowed by that tree. He dropped the coneys, and frantically tried to pry open the willow with his bare hands. But elf though he was, and a great one, he could not overcome the power of that cursèd tree.

At last he sat back, defeated. The sun had set by now, and once again the waning moon peered over the horizon. Legolas knelt before the grave of Emmelyn, and cried, his tears soaking the tree bark.

Within, Emmelyn felt the tears that fell from the tiny sliver above her, tasted their saltiness upon her lips, and woke. She saw the pitch-darkness of her surroundings, felt the rough, unyielding wood, and screamed. Legolas started, hearing her, and attacked the tree with fresh vigour. But a second time he failed, and now the sliver had thinned to almost nothing. He cried out in despair. '_Ai! Tua!_' The shout echoed through the forest. _Help us!_

From deep within the forest, a far away voice answered him.

_Hey, dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!  
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!  
Bom Tom, jolly Bom, Bom Tombadillo! _

Legolas' head snapped up. He squinted into the darkness of the forest; there was nothing.

The voice, meanwhile, had grown louder, decidedly closer. Its speaker was nearing.

_Old Bom Tombadil is a merry fellow;  
Bright pink his jacket is, and his hair is yellow.  
None has ever caught him yet, for Bom, he is the master:  
His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster._

A shape emerged from the trees, a short, squat man with reddened cheeks and an air that could only be described as jolly. As his song had suggested, he did indeed wear a pink jacket, and his hair was not light as Laurelin or pure as Moonbeam, or even the shadowed electrum of Emmelyn's, but bright yellow. Yellower than gold, yellower than the petals of _elanor_ in Lórien long forgotten.

'Well, what have we here, my boy?' he asked, his voice booming that thick with laughter. 'What seems to be the problem?'

Legolas shook his head dully. 'You're not supposed to be here, Tom Bombadil... er, Bom Tombadil. You stayed in the Old Forest; you never came to Valinor!' Then he started, realisation dawning. 'Neither did Old Man Willow! He never came to Valinor! He doesn't exist here!'

With this unexpected twist of logic, Tom Bombadil—or Bom Tombadil, as he had taken to calling himself—disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. For, you see, nothing defies logic, even in Arda, land of the Ilúvatar's children, land of magic and heroic deeds galore.

Legolas turned back to the willow. It groaned, unable to stand against the powers greater than itself, and spat its hostage out. Then, in the space of three heartbeats, it shrank into a stump, and disappeared, never to be seen again in Valinor, leaving behind Emmelyn, confused and blinking in the Moonlight.

Legolas fell to his knees beside her. 'Emmelyn! Are you alright?'

She stood weakly, and fell into his arms, sobbing. 'Yes... yes... thank you, Legolas.'

He held her, rocking back and forth and comforting her. Beside them, the stream sang its unending song, and words came, unbidden, to his mind:

_An Elven maid there was of old  
A shining star by day  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold  
Her shoes of silver grey _

He became aware that he was humming to her, and gradually, Emmelyn's sobs quietened. She sniffed and looked up at him.

In the dark of the night, Legolas thought that she was even more beautiful than before. Her hair spilled to her waist in a pool of shining silk, and her eyes were as blue as the Sea. Her skin was pale in the Moonlight and kissed by rose.

And Emmelyn, in turn, saw Legolas' dark, dark eyes, and found herself lost in their depths. His black hair lay, dishevelled.

They were light and dark, together. A perfect complement, and unable to exist alone.Legolas, hesitant, kissed her.

~*~

A bird twittered in the branches above them, its song mixing with the sounds of the river. The Sun hung low, newly risen; it was only a little after dawn. The pale Moon had not yet sunk below the horizon.

Beneath the bough of the _mallorn_ tree, Emmelyn opened her eyes to gaze at the sky above. She turned, saw Legolas beside her, his lips curved into a half-smile of content, and felt an answering smile spread tenderly across her own face.

She lay back then, and closed her eyes. The quest ahead seemed small of a sudden, its dangers trivial. Even Manwë's disapproval seemed inconsequential.

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Manwë. Ilúvatar. Her eyes flew open. For a moment she shook, fearful, scanning the sky warily lest any lightning dart down to lay her low.

Beside her, Legolas stirred, sighing. Emmelyn relaxed and stood, disentangling herself from him. She saw the two coneys that Legolas had cast down the night before, and shook her head—they were long past appetising now, crawling with insects.

She entered the forest to gather food, carrying with her only her kirtle, which she used to collect fruit.

Presently, Legolas woke, and, feeling the space beside him empty, started. He looked to her belongings scattered on the ground and saw that she had taken her hempcloth kirtle, and relaxed.

The mountains stood only a little way beyond the sparkling stream. Legolas narrowed his eyes. If they were lucky, they would reach it by nightfall—and what then? The mountains would not be easy to cross; the steeps are treacherous, the rocks loose and crumbling. They would take at least two days to cross.

And once they reached the other side.… Legolas shuddered and turned his thoughts away—he would leave that 'til later to worry about.

Once they have crossed, they would descend into darkness.

~*~

They had been travelling with little pause for two days. Tired, they were, and annoyed at the constant walking.

Food was scarce upon the steeps: there were few fruited trees. Occasionally, there would be berry shrubs, and there, they would eat and gather what they could. Their tempers quickly fouled.

'This is witless,' said Emmelyn. 'Why are we wasting time climbing the mountain?'

'We are not wasting time. It would take longer to skirt it.'

'But is there no other pass?'

'I don't know, and I don't care to find out.'

Emmelyn pouted.

They crested a rise and began the slow, hazardous climb down, slipping on pebbles. There was the occasional exposed root to grab onto, but, for the most part, they relied on a sure sense of balance, and fate.

But, at length, they began to tire. The sun had half-sunk away. Legolas led the way over the final rise, beyond which they would rest.

He jumped over the rock, and came down on the other side, turning to reach out a hand to help Emmelyn. She nodded stiffly and stepped gingerly over.

With a crunch, the piece of loose rock beneath her heel gave way. She cried out, tumbling to the ground, and slid down the steep slope, disappearing over the rim of a chasm.

Legolas darted forward, not heeding his own safety. Fate was with him that day, for ne'er had a creature dared that speed upon those slopes, yet he did not fall.

'Emmelyn!' he cried, halting before the crevasse. It ran across the path, a scar in the face of the mountain. The ground below seemed far, indeed, and riddled with sharp rocks.

He despaired then; it was his fault. Surely she would not survive such a fall? And even if she were not dashed to pieces upon those rocks, how would he lift her? They had nay a rope, nay a hope.

He knelt beside the edge, weeping for the loss of his beloved. Before that cursèd chasm, Legolas lamented.

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
Knowing we must say goodbye  
Try to forgive, teach me to live  
Give me the strength to try! _

Amazingly, as he sang, he heard a reply from below:

_No more talk of darkness! Forget these wide-eyed fears _

It was Emmelyn. Exuberant, Legolas sang back,

_I am here! Nothing can harm you  
My words will warm and calm you _

He cast himself down, leaning over the edge, and lo! there Emmelyn was, as beautiful and vibrantly alive as ever a maiden was—frightened perhaps, but nevertheless breathing. She was standing upon a small rock shelf jutted out from the side of the cliff. Legolas marvelled at this.

'Emmelyn!' he shouted, 'are you alright?'

'Yes.'

'Wait.' He leaned over the side, bracing himself against a nearby rock, and reached out an arm. 'Can you reach?'

She stood on her toes, and made a half-hearted swing at the proffered hand, just managing to brush it with her fingertips.

'Try,' urged Legolas, but she could not.

Below her, the edges of the shelf had begun to crumble. The fallen rocks struck the sides of the mountain, sending echoes magnified up to them.

'Quickly!' he said. 'Jump! It's falling!'

'I can't!' Emmelyn said, weeping. She was tired; this had been a long day. She had little energy left.

Legolas fixed her with his gaze, and she looked back unwillingly. '_Vanimelda_,' he murmured. 'Do not give up. Just try, for me.'

Despite the obvious cheesiness of this statement, Emmelyn gave an attempt at a smile. She straightened again, determined. The rock beneath her was loosening now; it would not hold her much longer. She jumped. Their hands caught firmly.

They strained against the rock, clawing onto each other as if it were their only lifeline, which, indeed, it was—for Emmelyn, at the least. At last, she found a foothold on the jagged rock, and pulled herself over the edge of the chasm. There, she fell to the ground, shivering. Below, the rock shelf crumbled into dust.

Legolas lay beside her. They would go no further that night…. Especially as they both had each other to keep occupied.

~*~

The next day, at sunset, they ended their climb over the mountain. The ground beneath their feet had gradually softened, until they found themselves standing on the grassy strip before the forest.

'What is this place?' asked Emmelyn.

Legolas frowned into the shadow of the trees. This was a fell place, he sensed. Not a wind stirred the dark, dark leaves upon the branches; not bird sang in the boughs. A dark cloud seemed to hang in the sky above, muffling all traces of life.

He shook his head gravely, and opened his mouth to speak; the words felt heavy on his tongue.

'It is the Valley of Ungolianth.'

~~~~~

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A/N: am now fully expecting to be ambushed by a fire-wielding mob for pairing Legolas with a Mary Sue, but it's too fun to torture them like this. Heh.


	4. Chapter three: Spider's Lair

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Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Chapter 3: Spider's Lair

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. Wait… wrong line.

It was the best of places; it was the worst of places. Actually, it was only bad. The treetops were so thickly meshed that nothing from the outside—not the warm sunlight, nor the fresh air—reached the forest floors. There were no animals. Indeed, the very air smelt of death. The silence was suffocating. Legolas and Emmelyn found themselves barely daring to breathe lest the sombre stillness of the forest was broken.

Emmelyn shook out her divinely beautiful hair and swept through the darkness with her clear, sapphire eyes. She watched Legolas, saw with longing his silky hair and hard, muscular back, and wondered why the author was using gratuitous adjectives. 'Amateur!' she muttered darkly. 'She's bringing me a bad name!' She pouted slightly, her full, red lips pressed together in distaste.

'How will we find the Aerysil in this place?' she asked, and jumped at the unaccustomed sound in this silence.

Legolas glanced back over his shoulder. 'Ungoliant has it,' he said.

'Who?'

He stopped and turned around. 'Ungoliant is the spider queen; she was the servant of Melkor, before he betrayed her and set her in this valley. For two Ages, it was not known what became of her. But I have reason to believe that she is still alive, feeding off of the creatures of this place.

'It is said that this was once a valley rich in goods. The soil was fertile and rich, and there were many jewels in the earth. But since Ungoliant came, not a flower has bloomed; not a tree has fruited. All that you see about you,' he gestured to the woods, 'is barren, or poisonous. Do not eat of anything in this forest. We must live on the food that we brought. We will be fast—find the Aerysil, and out of here.'

'But how?' asked Emmelyn. 'Surely we can't just walk in on this Ungoliant and steal the jewel from her?'

Legolas frowned. 'We will figure that out when we get there.' He paused and murmured softly, '_If_ we get there.' And for a moment he looked greatly saddened and lost. Then he straightened himself and turned ahead to the heart of the forest. 'Come. We have no time to lose. Stay silent—no more talk—and keep careful watch about you. Ungoliant will have allies in this forest.'

Emmelyn shuddered, looking into the trees fearfully. The shadowy forest seemed suddenly more frightening.

Legolas looked down at her and softened. 'Don't worry, _vanimelda_, we will make it through, and Manwë _will_ bless our marriage.' On sudden impulse, he bent and kissed her. The gesture gave both of them some strength, and, when they broke away to continue on their path, it was with renewed determination.

And so they set out on the road together, following the thin stream of the Syrilamin, the Friendly River, which alone flows bright in the dark placed of the world. Fortunately, though the Syrilamin always leads to the heart of these places, its waters are pure and bane to all the servants of Melkor.

That part of the forest was relatively easy to walk, though occasionally there would be mud and filth on the banks and the fell creatures would leer at them from behind the shrubbery. Then they would walk in the river, and the cool water lapping at their ankles would soothe them.

Other times, the creatures would come too close, and they would be forced to cross the river and seek solitude there—the creatures never seemed to like the water too much, and hence refused to wade across in pursuit.

Only once were they in any real danger, and that was when a spider—strayed too far from its home or perhaps driven out by Ungoliant's progeny—came to the water and, crazed with hunger, attacked them. They fought it off easily enough with arrows and long knives; it was only and small, young spider, and therefore very inexperienced.

But their success through their journey thus far did little to help their increasing feelings of fear and malcontent. Indeed, if anything, it was worse. Ungoliant was a servant of Melkor, fashioned specially by him to serve a purpose—she was not stupid. She must know of their presence in her domain, and must have ulterior motives for allowing them to reach her.

By the third day, it had become clear that something was wrong. The further into the forest they went, the more creatures there were, but, unlike the fewer, weaker creatures that waylaid them at the end of the forest, these made no attempt to attack. Instead, they merely hung back in the shadows and watched, their hungry, luminescent eyes blinking once in a while.

This feeling of unease only grew as Legolas and Emmelyn continued their trek to the heart of the woods, where Ungoliant's lair was sure to await them.

When all the woodland creatures disappeared on their fifth day and a terrible silence, heavier and thicker than ever before, descended upon them, so that they almost fancied that they could hear the breathing of the woodland around them, Legolas and Emmelyn knew that they had finally reached the lair of Ungoliant.

~*~

It was, predictably, a gloomy place. A mesh of nets surrounded it tightly, and in it were caught many elves and humans: long dead, pitiful things, their faces frozen in masks of terror and despair. Many of these were merely rotted skeletons, the flesh hanging in tattered ribbons upon the white bones, a few stray hairs blowing in the wind.

A putrid smell rose to greet Legolas and Emmelyn as they neared. From somewhere to their right, a human voice moaned in pain. Emmelyn stifled a gasp.

Further ahead, after they passed the webs and the captives, was a thick grove of treas. Emmelyn started into it, but froze as Legolas placed a warning hand upon her arm.

'Are you insane?' he hissed. 'Something trapped all those people back there—whatever it is, it'll get you, too, if you go in!'

Emmelyn frowned. 'How are we going to find the Aerysil if we don't go in?'

'_We_ are not.' Legolas took up his bow. 'Manwë gave this quest to me; I will complete it.'

Emmelyn did gasp this time. 'No!' she said. 'You can't!'

'Emmelyn,' said Legolas exasperatedly, 'this isn't just another beast, tree, or cliff, or Bush. Ungoliant is a monster. You won't be safe it you go in there.'

'I don't care—I chose to come with you, and I will not let you go alone. Besides, it is just as dangerous out here; what if something comes from the forest?'

'No, Emmelyn, I can't let you come with me.'

'It's more dangerous for you than it is for me,' she snapped. 'I told you before—I have my magic. Against Ungoliant, that'll be more useful than your arrows.'

Legolas blinked. 'But it isn't your fight…' he said hesitantly.

She walked up to him and raised her hand to caress his cheek. 'It _is_,' she said, softly, insistently. 'I gave my life over to you when I defied Manwë and chose to go with you that day.' She looked up at him through dark eyelashes. 'I would rather live a mortal life with you than live through all eternity alone.'

Legolas cocked his head and frowned. 'That sounds familiar.'

'Nevermind,' said Emmelyn hurriedly. 'Shall we go?'

He sighed. 'Yes. Let us face Ungoliant together.'

And so Legolas and Emmelyn turned as one to face the darkness that marked Ungoliant's lair. Side by side, they walked to the part in the grove. Then they realised that they had to go through in single file, or else they wouldn't fit.

The first thing that Legolas saw, upon entering the grove, was that Ungoliant's empire was vast. Most of it was underground; the main cavern alone was larger than the Hall of Mandos. Hundreds of spiders milled about, working in groups on various tasks. One particular group was spinning webs; another constructed what looked like eight-legged armour; a third was concocting a distinct red stew that reeked, even from this distance, of human excrement and burnt flesh. The quest suddenly didn't seem as promising....

From this main cavern led a myriad of smaller passages, through which spiders scuttled. One particular passage, Legolas noted with some satisfaction, seemed to be least trafficked. Indeed, most spiders kept well away from it. _That must be where the Aerysil is_, though Legolas.

But before that corridor was a bronze seat—a throne—upon which sat the largest spider of them all: a fat, hairy _thing_ with dripping mandibles and glistening pincers. Dozens of other, smaller spiders hurried around it, offering food and grooming (if indeed it could be call that). Its eyes burnt bright red with an unearthly fire.

'Ungoliant!' whispered Legolas, mortified.

From behind him came a quick exhalation. Emmelyn pulled him back from the opening of the cavern. 'How are we going to get to that thing?

Legolas sighed in frustration and raked his hand through his hand. But, before he could answer, another voice drifted from behind him. It was thick, hoarse, and altogether unpleasant. 'Well, well, well,' it said oilily, 'what have we here?' A pincer clicked sharply. 'An elf!'

Before Legolas could move or speak, two spiders had materialised behind him and grabbed on to his arms. A third spider circled around him. Legolas tried to glance back innocuously—Emmelyn seemed to have disappeared.

'Welcome, elf prrrince,' said the spider in front of him, and Legolas recognised it by its voice as the one who had spoken before. 'We have been exsspecting you.' It swooped down and peered around him into the darkness. 'But wherrre iss the other, the ssshe-elf?'

Legolas fought to keep his face impassive. 'What she-elf? I don't know what you are talking about.'

The spider cocked one of its many eyes up at him. 'Liiiarr,' it hissed. 'But no matter! My missstressss will be pleassed enough with me for brrringing you back to her.'

'My lord,' said one of the spiders behind him. Its voice was distinctly rougher than the other spider's, almost like a grunt. _Do spiders grunt?_ Legolas wondered suddenly. That would be more befitting of a pig than a spider. Legolas fought an irrational desire to laugh. 'Do we stew him?'

'Fffool!' said the first spider. 'It iss our misstresss'ss orrderss to brring him back to her, _alive and unharmed_! Imbesscile! Ssstuff your kneess into your mandiblesss nexsst time, before you dessside to ssspeak. Now, help me to bring him back to the thrrone rrroomss.'

The spiders picked up Legolas and carried him down the steep incline into the cavern. The walk was bumpy, and the spiders' pincers dug painfully into his back, but Legolas could not help wishing that it would never end.

But time has an uncanny way of speeding up when one least wants it, and, all too soon, Legolas and his captors halted in front of the throne of Ungoliant. He was promptly dropped to the ground and pulled back up to his feet.

The smell of rotting flesh overwhelmed him; Legolas suddenly felt faint. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely recalled his purpose here—but it would be folly to even think of getting to the Aerysil now. He fixed his eyes on the ground. The stones were rough and uneven; streaks of red rust showed that there was truth to the old legends, after all: there _were_ metals here.

Emmelyn, he thought. _She is still free; they haven't found her_. The though of Emmelyn gave him hope. He closed his eyes. There, imprinted on the back of his eyelids, was Emmelyn, beautiful and ethereal: Emmelyn, smiling softly at him in the moonlight, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders; Emmelyn, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth, her eyes wide in apprehension.

He raised his head and looked at Ungoliant.

~*~

Back in the grove, Emmelyn extracted herself from the tangle of trees and let the last notes of her disguising spell fade into the air. She had watched the spiders take Legolas away; they had been so preoccupied with Legolas that they had barely looked around them after the cursory glance.

Damn Manwë for doing this.

Pulling herself together, she closed her eyes and sang softly,

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
Wishing you were somehow near  
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
Somehow you would be here _

As she sang, she suffused her voice with magic, the pure magic of the Maiar and the Istari. The song took form; it materialised into a glittering web of gold, a web light as breath and so bright that it seemed Laurelin again was born. By the time she reached the last note, the web had stopped glowing, though the sparkles of magic were still evident in it. She snatched it from the air and draped it around her shoulders; it felt cool to the touch, with a smooth silky texture. She nodded in satisfaction; it would work.

Emmelyn pulled herself through the entrance to the cavern and crept down the narrow, steep path to the cave floor. It occurred to her that she would be found at once if a spider came—the path was hardly wide enough to let them both pass without incident. But fortunately her walk down was relatively eventless.

She headed toward the throne, where she could see Legolas being questioned by Ungoliant. She crept forward and sang a song of calming over Legolas, then hurried on toward the corridor in which the Aerysil lay.

It was a surprisingly easy journey. Ungoliant had done the job of keeping it clear of intruders very well.

When she finally reached the end chamber, she was awed, for this place was not at all like the cavern that she had stood in before. There was no filth here; instead, it shone with pure magic. Heaps of jewels and precious metals covered the ground. In one corner, there was gold; in another, gems of all colours imaginable. A mound of _mithril_ lay to her left. There were riches enough in this place to rival all of Valimar.

By the far wall, there stood a pedestal and a cushion of black velvet. The jewel that sat at the centre of it was just smaller than Emmelyn's pal, and shone so fiercely that it cast the entire chamber into red light.

'Aerysil,' breathed Emmelyn. She made her way over a mound of blue diamonds and reached for it.

The jewel flared at her touch. It became so bright that Emmelyn was forced to squint to look at it. Words appeared in its depths, words of fire, tiny but unmistakable. '_Creoso_,' it read, '_chil-Ilúva_.'

Welcome, Ilúvatar's heir.


	5. Chapter four: The Chosen of Ilúvatar

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Disclaimer: Legolas isn't mine *sniff*. He's J. R. R. Tolkien's. And so are many other characters in this story, save a few. I own Emmelyn... or does she own me?

Fear.

~~~~~

****

Chapter 4: The Chosen of Ilúvatar

Emmelyn stared at it, horror dawning upon her. 'No,' she whispered, and jumped at the sound of her own voice; she hadn't realised that she'd spoken aloud.

Yes, it said in response. _You are the Ilúvatar's Chosen, are you not?_

She thought back. That was what Manwë had called her, on the last day, before she left them. 'I can't be,' she insisted. 'I'm not.'

It seemed to laugh at her. _I have been serving Ilúvatar for three Ages now. I think I am more knowledgeable than you, in this matter, at least._

'Why?' she asked. 'How can I be Ilúvatar's heir? I don't even know who I am.' She quietened again. 'Why does Ilúvatar even need an heir?' she mused.

Oh, Ilúvatar is not deathless. Nothing is. Everything good will come to an end eventually.

'But why me?'

You were not born, child. Ilúvatar fashioned you. Why do you think you do not remember your past? You were not meant to know until it was time for you to find out. Now is the time.

'What are you? How do you know this?'

I am many things, child. Fëanor forged me. Varda hallowed me. Manwë blessed me. Ilúvatar took me. Only a true daughter of Ilúvatar can wield me.

'A true daughter of Ilúvatar? You can't mean....'

It laughed again. _No, child, the Ilúvatar does not procreate in conventional manners. But nor did he fashion every creature on this planet. He created you with his own lifeblood, as he created the Valar and the Maiar before you, and the Istari; as he created the first Eldar. But there is more to you, for he put into you something special._

'What is it?' Emmelyn asked. She pulled off her cloak.

Behold.

A miniature picture formed on the ruby surface of the Aerysil. Emmelyn leaned closer—it looked to her like Valimar, but a shadow had come over it. Everywhere, elves walked in dread. The thrones of Manwë and Varda where no longer great and glorious. As she watched, Ungoliant dropped into view, followed by a crew of armoured, monstrous spiders. Murder. Mayhem. Chaos. Valimar was destroyed.

The picture disappeared, and the jewel was speaking again. _This is what will be, if you do not intervene. You alone have the power to change the future._

Emmelyn bowed her head in acquiescence. 'What must I do?'

The glow of the jewel grew blinding; Emmelyn could feel its elation. _Kill Ungoliant! _it said. _Destroy her, before all is lost. You have seen the destruction that she is planning, witnessed the building of the weapons and armour that is to be used. That is your first task_.

'Task?' she echoed.

You are Ilúvatar's heir. This is the beginning.

The jewel cleared suddenly. _Hist! The spiders celebrate! Your friend is in danger. Go! Take me with you._

'Legolas!' gasped Emmelyn in fear. She picked up the Aerysil—it felt warm to her touch—and ran back out, drawing the web of magic back over her shoulders.

She emerged back into the main cavern in time to see a gathering of spiders. Legolas had been tied in the centre of it to a post. Ungoliant was interrogating him. Emmelyn could not hear what they were saying.

Suddenly, the spiders collectively began to chant, 'burn! Burn! Burn!' Emmelyn paled. This couldn't have been a good sign.

Indeed, it was not. A drone spider showed up merely a moment later, carrying a torch in its pincers. The spiders burst into guttural cheers. Anticipation was heavy in the air; the spiders were fairly clambering with it, fighting to find a good view.

In the midst of it all, Legolas sat, tied to a post amid piles of dry wood. Emmelyn watched in horror. _They're going to burn him!_ she thought.

The drone was drawing nearer now, ever so slowly. Cheers grew louder.

Emmelyn screamed.

At once, the drone halted and the spiders froze simultaneously. Heads turned to where Emmelyn stood under her web of disguise.

The screams grew in a crescendo, rose in pitch until it was so high and shrill that the spiders cowered into each other. Magic, raw and uncensored, channelled forth into the air; the spiders clutched at their heads. Beneath Emmelyn's shriek, a low voice emerged, growing steadily—Legolas had sat up.

__

I am the Angel of Music!

Come to your Angel of Music!

I am here, I am here, monsieur,

The Angel of Death!

The scream cut off abruptly. In the ringing silence that followed, the spiders writhed on the ground. Emmelyn started at once, taking advantage of this temporary respite. She jumped over the spiders and skidded to Legolas. With a deftness that she did not know that she possessed, Emmelyn sliced through the ropes bonding Legolas. They scrambled for the exit.

They were halfway to the cave opening when the rumble began behind them. The spiders were recovering. A roar sounded. 'Get them! Get them both!' It was Ungoliant.

'Quick! Through the trees!' said Legolas. They emerged into the forest; spiders were climbing down from their hiding places in the trees. Without warning, a black widow fell to the ground before Legolas and Emmelyn, hissing and spitting. A scream of rage and unbridled power tore from Emmelyn's throat; the spider was dead instantly. Beside Emmelyn, Legolas laid low a tarantula. They ran on and emerged at the Syrilamin, the spiders milling just behind.

Emmelyn halted and turned to face the spiders. 'Quick! Don't look back!' said Legolas, pulling at her arm urgently.

'

No,' she said, her voice unnaturally calm. Legolas turned and look at her.

As if in a dream, Emmelyn raised the hand that held the Aerysil into a warding movement in front of her.

'_Val-Ilúva varlye! Entule dáe!_' she intoned.

A white fire spilt forth from the jewel's centre. It swept through the ranks of spiders before Emmelyn and left in its wake severed limbs and broken shells. The silence of the forest broke with screams of pain, rage, and frustration. When the fire had travelled its course, it dissipated into the air.

Emmelyn stood, aghast at the destruction before her. Behind her, Legolas stared. 'Whoa! Dude!' he said. 'This is just like True Lies!'

Emmelyn raised an eyebrow at him.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'Orlando moment there.'

'Don't let it happen again. We can't afford a moment of stupidity.'

'It won't.'

They turned and splashed down the Syrilamin. For six hours they ran, until the Sun was but a sliver over the horizon, and Emmelyn fairly collapsed in exhaustion—the magic of the Aerysil draws energy from the wielder.

'We cannot go any further,' said Legolas.

'But we can't stop!' said Emmelyn weakly. 'They'll catch up to us!'

'Hist!' said Legolas suddenly. 'Look!' He pointed ahead. Shining through the trees was a pure light that brought with it memories of days from long past.

'Horses!'

They jumped on to the white steeds and broke into a gallop. For two nights and two days they rode through the forest, following the river.

When at last they broke through the tree line, Emmelyn almost fell off of her horse in relief. They would be safe now—the spiders wouldn't leave the valley. She jumped from her horse; Legolas did the same a moment later. They watched the white horses gallop away.

'How do you suppose those horses were there just when we needed them?' Legolas asked.

'Plot device,' Emmelyn said. 'The author was too lazy to contrive a more realistic method for us to escape. But don't ask any more questions.'

'Ah. I see.'

~*~

They were received quite warmly back into the city. Manwë and Varda met them at the gates.

'I see that you have retrieved the Aerysil,' Manwë said gruffly. 'But you did not do it alone.' He looked at Emmelyn. 'Thus, the quest is only half completed.'

'No!' said Emmelyn. 'You can't—he fought! He—'

But Manwë only smiled and said, 'Peace, child, I was not yet done. You must allow me to speak.'

He stood and came nearer to lay his hands upon their shoulders. 'You disobeyed me. I gave the quest to you in hopes of helping you and proving the worthiness of this match to Ilúvatar. It was a sound plan, except for one little problem.

'The greatest thing in this world is to love and be loved in return—before you say anything, I said this long before Baz Luhrman did. Love is a representation of all that is great and eternal in this world. To deny love in the name of Ilúvatar is sacrilege, for Ilúvatar _is_ love. Therefore, if neither of you have objections now, you must come with me to be cleaned up; you both have a wedding to prepare for.' He turned and swept back into the palace.

Emmelyn and Legolas looked at each other, hardly daring to believe their ears. Then, as one, they laughed and ran after Manwë into the palace to be wed.

All of Valimar celebrated that day, as the chosen one and her prince were wedded in the great courtyard. Food, wine, and song were abound; at one point, a minstrel came to them to sing of their journey to find the Aerysil. Beautiful elf maidens danced and twirled, and Emmelyn, the fairest of them all, sat at the centre with her Legolas.

The festivities continued long into the night, until the sky was a patch of black, littered with stars. Eärendil looked down again at the elven maiden, and smiled.

~~~~~

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A/N: Squee! The Aerysil_ is finished! Feedback and con crit are very, very welcome._

Tune in again in six months as Legolas and Emmelyn (and Ungoliant) return in The Syrilamin_, the second novella in the _Time of Burning_ trilogy. Six months—no joke, I'll be uploading it around December._

In the mean time, I'll be putting up an ickle snippet.

****

Reference:

_A Dream Within A Dream_ was the title of a Poe poem. 

'An elven maid there was of old...' from Lothlórien, The Fellowship of the Ring.

'Wishing you were somehow here again...' from a song of the title, on the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, lyrics by Richard Stilgoe.

'No more talk of darkness...' from All I Ask of You, on the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack.

'The greatest thing is to love and be loved in return' from Moulin Rouge (2001).

Baz Luhrman is a director, and True Lies is a another film. Any more questions?


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